Staying Shocked Over Rowland

I always get a little soft after the holidays, so I found myself being lulled into Nancy Clinton Parker's laudable talk of perspective -- specifically, applying some to the whole Rowland mess.

You might expect that as a Democrat who worked on both Bill Curry's failed campaigns against John G. Rowland, she would have been waiting for Rowland's head to roll out of the room where he met Tuesday with legislative leaders. She definitely wouldn't have been the only one -- why else were there so many cameras perched to capture any hint of gubernatorial bloodshed?

But not Clinton Parker. A former social worker for the state Department of Children and Families, her meter for injustice and inhumanity are understandably high.

You want to see real injustice, real inhumanity -- try listening to a parent proudly proclaim that she keeps her kids in line with a gun, or watching a child's problems overshadow her potential. She's seen some of the children she counseled on the streets; they don't recognize her. She saw one not that long ago; he was living in a men's shelter. That's what really rattles Clinton Parker, what haunts her even long after leaving the job.

Some crooked politician -- even a Republican one -- who took a free hot tub here, a free vacation there? That doesn't register as high on her outrage meter.

There seems to be a lot of that going around. Maybe not as high-minded as hers, more inspired by partisanship or cynicism. But the most shocking and definitely the saddest revelation during the gubernatorial scandal is how people not only expected, but accepted the governor's unethical behavior: He's been the best governor ever. Didn't you guys ever take presents from a friend? All politicians are crooks -- what makes this news? Poor guy, only made $80 grand until his recent raise -- how was he supposed to support a family on that piddling paycheck? And aren't there more important things to worry about?

In truth, the scene at the Capitol on Tuesday was a little gross. A dozen cameras lined up to capture each legislator's pained look of betrayal, each backpedal and noncommittal comment.

``Who are all these people?'' one cameraman asked while surveying the competition. ``We only have four networks in Connecticut.''

Trash talk started early by reporters who promised to elbow each other out of the way. And, true to his word, one TV cameraman pushed a print photographer with a stern warning: ``Stop getting in my shot!''

Given all that and my own fleeting post-holiday congeniality, Clinton Parker almost had me. And then legislators emerged from the meeting and thankfully snapped me out of my ``perspective'' torpor.

The meeting was solemn and serious, House Speaker Moira Lyons said. Not unlike a wake. Except, true to form, Rowland didn't exactly come off as a dead man walking. The perpetually penitent governor apologized -- again. How many apologies that makes since last month is anyone's guess -- but it would make an interesting Trivial Pursuit question.

Rowland said he had no intention of resigning. And his monumental arrogance was in full force when he told legislators that an impeachment process would ``suck the air out of the building'' -- as if the daily installments of Rowland's indiscretions haven't.

The most recent was the governor's real estate coup: In 1997, he sold his Washington, D.C., condo to a Connecticut acquaintance for something like double the price comparable units were fetching.

In one of the more honestly amusing moments of the day, Lyons said she wouldn't mind getting her hands on an agent like that. But, as Senate President Pro Tem Kevin Sullivan noted, that's just the sort of thing that makes people think politicians live by different rules.

Helen Ubinas' column runs Thursdays and Sundays. She can be reached at Ubinas@courant.com.